


a one in ten million chance

by plinys



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), M/M, Mutual Pining, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: Eddie and Richie get trapped in an elevator and have to deal with their feelings for each other.





	a one in ten million chance

**Author's Note:**

> when does this fic take place? why are they stuck in an elevator? doesn't matter they're gay

In the movies they always make getting trapped in an elevator with your crush out to be something romantic. Whereas in reality it is just… 

“Did you know, the probability of dying due to being trapped in an elevator is a one in ten million chance,” Eddie says. 

He’s rambling. 

Trying to fill the space between them. 

Acutely aware of the fact that they’re far more likely to die from using up all the air in the elevator, a process which is only likely to be sped up by him talking but the alternative is silence. 

Silence in a small space filled with only himself and Richie. 

There’s a lot of great things that come with growing up to realize that you have always had a massive, probably unrequited, crush on your childhood best friend, such as being compelled to never visit your shitty back water hometown and have a discussion about those  _ feelings _ . Or sitting there in the audience for what was probably the worst stand up show in existence and feel those same terrible butterflies in your stomach that you were sure you squashed as a kid. Or being well aware of how you’ve both grown up to the point where sitting on opposite sides of the floor of an elevator as you wait for a repair technician to show up leaves very little wiggle room. 

In fact, if Eddie were to shift even just  _ slightly  _ to the side then his leg would be pressed up against Richie’s and that would be… A Lot. 

“Of course, statistically speaking, this elevator has about four thousand liters of air inside of it, which between the two of us, breathing at a normal breath speed, and accounting for the small crack between the doors, means we have approximately six to eight hours of air left before we die from lack of oxygen.” 

“At normal breath speed,” Richie repeats. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“As opposed to an increased breath speed,” Eddie explains. “Like after running a marathon.”

“Running a marathon,” Richie repeats again. 

“I’m sorry, do I have fucking echo?”

Richie’s laugh is sharp.  _ Unpleasant _ , he tries to tell himself. Even if that just sets off the fucking butterflies again. 

“They teach you all this bullshit in college?”

“Jealous?” 

Richie shrugs and then replies, “Figures you’d be the fucking one in ten millionth person.”

“If I’m dying, we’re both dying,” Eddie points out. “In case you’ve forgotten we’re stuck in this elevator  _ together _ .” 

He can’t miss the way Richie suddenly tears his gaze away. Instead fixing his eyes up above Eddie’s head, as if some smudge on the elevator wall is suddenly the most important thing the world.

It hurts him a little, how bad he wants Richie to look at him again. 

He tries not to think about how long it’s been since they’ve been this close to each other. They grew apart. People do that. Eddie is well aware of that fact. They were always going to grow apart, nobody stays friends with the kids they met in middle school for the rest of their lives. Not unless your life goal was to stay in your hometown and marry your high school sweetheart and produce those two point five kids to go with that white picket fence. 

He can’t remember who left first. 

Richie running away to a city with a dream right after graduation. Or his own determination for months to apply for and get into a college far enough away that he could pretend he wasn’t ignoring his mother’s phone calls. 

Just that there had been a time when Richie was no longer climbing through his window in the middle of the night, and Eddie had to tell himself that he didn’t miss it.

That he didn’t miss  _ this _ . 

“What about the toxic diseases in the air,” Richie asks. Prompting him, instead of complaining, as if maybe Eddie wasn’t the only one that couldn’t handle these silences. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know,” Richie replies. “Shouldn’t you be complaining about how the air is going to fucking poison us, like airplanes.” 

“Don’t get me started on airplanes,” Eddie says, but there’s a smile on his lips in spite of it all. They’ve had this discussion. “There’s hundreds of people on airplanes, hundreds of people’s germs being recycled through the air for hours. Whereas here there’s just the two of us.” 

“Aww Eds, are you saying you don’t mind my germs?”

Richie’s teasing him. 

Eddie knows that. 

Rationally that this is all one big fucking joke to him.

Just like everything is.

But his heart doesn’t know that. 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Eddie says, a frequent protest from the years past, one that seems a little weaker this time. 

“You can just say that you want my germs.”

“Why would I-” Eddie starts, only to stop himself, face scrunching up with disgust as he watches in mild horror as Richie licks the palm of his hand.

He’s too caught up in watching whatever the fuck Richie is doing that his brain doesn’t put the pieces together fast enough to move, to tuck his legs up to his chest and move them away from being within Richie’s reach. 

That moment’s hesitation costs him when a second later Richie is reaching out with his spit covered hand to grip Eddie’s ankle where it has become exposed between his pants leg and shoes. 

“What are you fucking twelve” Eddie says, tugging his leg out of Richie’s grasp, even though it’s too later now. 

When he looks up Richie has that familiar shit eating grin on his face.

And fuck, when did he start finding that  _ charming  _ of all things. 

_ Disgusting _ . 

“You know you missed me, Eddie Spaghetti.” 

“I didn’t,” Eddie insists. 

Even though they both know better. 

Missing Richie wasn’t just something he did, it was a state of existence, one he had been stuck in too long without even realizing it. 

Silence falls between them again, just for a moment, until Richie breaks it to ask, “What are you so fucking afraid of then?”

The words stay stuck in the back of his throat:  _ You finding out my feelings. _

“Plummeting! To our deaths! In an elevator!” 

“Wait, so don’t want to die next to me,” Richie’s voice carries a heavy note of sarcasm. “And here I really kept picturing us meeting our brutal ends hand in hand.”

As if to prove his point Richie holds his hand up between them. 

A part of Eddie is afraid that if he reaches out and grabs Richie’s hand, the universe, which has always conspired against him will finally give in and let them both plummet to their deaths. 

Which might be better than the alternative, Richie finding out from the slightly shake of Eddie’s hands, just how much he feels for him. How much he’s felt for so fucking long without truly knowing what it all meant. 

“Don’t fucking touch me again with the hand you just licked it,” Eddie replies, instead of taking his hand. 

Richie’s hand only falters slightly.

“It was the other hand,” he insists. 

Eddie wants to object. Insist that he knows for a fact that it was  _ not  _ the other hand. 

But then Richie says, “Come on, Eddie, don’t leave me hanging.” 

And against all of his better judgement, he reaches out to slide his hand into Richie’s. 

For a moment it’s good. Comforting. If a handshake could be considered comforting. 

And then because he’s Richie  _ fucking  _ Tozier, he tugs Eddie’s hands, catching him off guard enough the he falls forward, crashing the two of them together, making all that distance that Eddie had been putting between them ever since the elevator broke down gone in an instant.

It’s awkward. They bump into each other, Eddie’s knee hitting against Richie’s side as he tries to settle into this new position - and he swears the fucking elevator  _ jolts  _ at their movements - but when they settle he’s basically straddling Richie and their hands are still joined and - “ _ Oh _ .” 

They used to do this when they were kids.

Back then in could have been played off as something innocent not…

He knows he should be scrambling away by now, calling Richie an asshole or something, but he can’t manage to say anything other than - 

“Oh.” 

“Maybe there is an echo in here,” Richie says, but his voice is a whisper. 

So damn quiet that even though there is only two of them Eddie struggles to hear him, has to lean in just a little bit closer, press their bodies just a little bit closer together. Eddie wonders how Richie cannot hear the pounding of his heart, so loud in this otherwise quiet elevator. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie replies. But there’s no fire behind it. 

“Make me,” Richie replies.

Because that’s why he always does.

But this time. 

He actually does something about it.

Technically Eddie couldn’t say who moves first. It all happens at once. One second they’re both staring at each other, pressed  _ too fucking close  _ in this tiny broken down elevator, and the next second they’re pressing even closer together. Lips meeting lips. And as Eddie slips his eyes shut and holds on a little tighter to Richie’s hand, he could honestly be anywhere in the world, and it wouldn’t matter because all he can think is  _ finally _ .

Fucking finally. 

He knows that after this is all over, once they’re out of this elevator, that they’re going to have to talk about this and what it means for them. 

But in the meantime, Eddie can’t find himself to care. 

When they pull back, Richie’s smiling at him, looking a little bit dumb and a little bit wonderful all at the same time. And Eddie still can’t believe how gone his is on this absolute  _ loser _ . How gone he’s been for years. 

Richie’s voice is light and teasing as he asks, “What was that you were saying about increased breath speed?”

“Don’t make me regret kissing you.” 

“I’d never!”

  
  
  


(“Do you think we should actually call the elevator technician now, or...?” 

Bev, cups her hand around her ear before pressing them against the elevator doors, “No, give them like twenty more minutes.” )

  
  
  



End file.
